Forever was so many different things
by TenshiNoAkuma
Summary: Joshua didn't become the Composer out of love for Shibuya. Joshua didn't become the Composer because of a thirst for power. Becoming the Composer was just... convenient. Warning: Contains illness.


The first sign was when he rose to go grab a drink from the fridge.

Joshua vaguely remembered his mother catching him before he could fall over and hit his head on the table. His world dimmed momentarily - he didn't even remember when he closed his eyes - before it became inexplicably bright, pain lancing through his head. The lights flared briefly before, slowly, the room around him returned to normal. A little shaky, he accepted his mother's aid as he cautiously sat down, a sharp pain throbbing in his back. They sat in silence, his mother watching him carefully as he breathed to calm himself from the sudden shock of having his back suddenly give out on him.

"... You know," his mother offered after a moment of silence, "I've heard of people suddenly collapsing. I never thought I'd see it really happen until now."

There was concern, a raw moment of _worry_ from a mother he'd never seen perturbed at anything. Joshua didn't want to see that kind of look from his mother again; it _disturbed_ him. "Must've strained my back been when I brought home all those textbooks the other day," he explained, giving her a reassuring smile. "I'm sure it'll get better if I take it easy from now on."

Hesitantly, she smiled back.

And they both thought that was the end of that.

* * *

><p>Unfortunately, it wasn't.<p>

Joshua had no idea what was causing his pain. All he knew was that the painkillers he secretly took from home did nothing to ease them. Sometimes it was just a dull pain, starting from his lower back before creeping, insidiously, upward to his head to form a headache. Sometimes it just struck suddenly, as it did now, leaving him disoriented and grasping for something to brace himself with. Thankfully he managed to snag a seat on the train, so no embarrassing falls in the middle of class. He was only vaguely aware of people filtering in onto the train car; he was trying to keep himself from passing out right then and there. He caught sight of a disapproving glare, but it took him _three stops_ - the time it took for his mind and vision to clear - for him to realise _why_.

Feeling guilty - but should he have felt guilty, when he was in so much pain that he honestly needed the seat just as much? - he rose, struggling to keep the difficulty of such a simple action from his movements and offered the old lady his seat. It was only through sheer stubbornness that he managed to make the rest of the journey home while the muscles in his back twitched painfully.

It was hard, bearing all those accusatory glares, all those judging looks. He knew why; he _looked_ perfectly fine. He looked just like a (rude) healthy teenage boy.

But as he lay down on his bed, back hurting too much to get back up, he felt for the first time, a gnawing possibility that he _wasn't_.

* * *

><p>It would be a long time before he would feel that kind of pain again. He was cautious about pursuing club activities that involved physical activity, not wanting to aggravate his newfound sudden back problems further. Luckily, he found quite a happy second home with his Art club. He didn't quite have the dedication for belonging to <em>multiple<em> clubs to join the Reading club, but he nevertheless spent all his spare time reading. Always reading. History, classical literature, psychology, philosophy, design, culture, Joshua devoured everything he could get his hands on. Anything to understand people better, anything to help him look into their minds without them knowing.

People were interesting. There was no doubt about this in his mind. He almost wished there was an easy way pry apart the layers of personality and just _understand_ how all the layers worked together. But he supposed that would make things too easy for psychology to be any fun.

When he shut his latest book and stood to exit the train, Joshua reeled from the sudden pain lancing his right eye, vision blurring as his back started to spasm and ache with a similar pain. He was vaguely aware of people grabbing for his arms as pinpricks of bright light flared to encompass the entirety of his vision. He could feel someone trying to pull him upright "Hey kid, you alright?" even as he felt his knees buckle under him and his vision go dark.

It'd been so long that he forgot how suddenly it struck.

* * *

><p>He woke in a hospital bed, mother hovering by his side looking perfectly calm, but the sight of her wringing her hands clued him in to her real feelings. Once she saw he was awake, she reached out a hand to hold his - he was startled to find out warm hers were, compared to his clammy ones - and rubbed her fingers over the back of his hand, as if to soothe him. "How are you feeling?"<p>

It took him a moment to rub the sleep from his eyes and cautiously sit up, back blissfully free of pain. "Fine," he replied, ignoring the brief moment of doubt that lingered on his mother's face.

He really _did_ feel fine... but what had happened? Ah, the train. Raising a hand to his right eye, he was pleased to find it wasn't hurting. But when he lightly pressed his fingers to his eyelid, he realised that with only his left eye open, his vision was _sharper_. Lowering his hand and opening his right eye again, he was acutely aware of how everything looked like they had been run through a light noise filter and had the brightness dimmed. Joshua carefully kept his expression neutral - he learnt such expressions from the best - when he asked after licking his dry lips, "When can we leave?"

She mirrored his expression. "Not yet. I'm having a doctor find out what's wrong with you."

The words set him on edge, and he had to forcibly remember to unclench his jaw when he spoke again. "There's nothing _wrong_ with me. Why would you even think that?"

A small crease appeared in her brow, breaking her calm expression. Anger? "Why else would you have ended up here?" Quieter, she said something that made his blood run cold. "Why are you taking so many painkillers, Joshua?"

Crap. He'd forgotten to replace the box.

He had a lie ready on his lips; he didn't want to be a burden on his already taxed mother. But all his lies died in his throat when he heard her voice crack when she spoke again, "Don't think I don't know about all the other times! I thought maybe you were taking them for headaches, but after today..." She gave him a _look_, and he was shocked to see wetness in her eyes, and that shook him more than everything else. "I don't want to jump to conclusions. It's harder not knowing."

Joshua couldn't help but feel a little guilty. "...Sorry. They weren't for headaches."

* * *

><p>But for all his mother's talk about it being harder not knowing, <em>she<em> was the one who withheld the information of _what_ exactly it was he was suffering. He managed to figure out that it was some kind of disease with some carefully constructed questions, but he gained no additional knowledge other than the fact it was going to get worse. And that there was no cure.

_No cure_.

So that was how it was going to be. Him learning to live with an incurable disease. Expensive injections that would only lessen the symptoms. Some youth this was.

But his mother held him tight and said in a voice he _knew_ was holding back tears, "They'll discover a cure. They'll find one so you won't have to suffer in the future."

She really believed it. She really hoped that at least _one_ of the numerous scientists working around the world would discover a cure. She was going to look after him and put so much of her life on hold for that little sliver of hope that he could be cured. Because she believed, dared to hope, he did, too.

But it wasn't easy.

* * *

><p>There were some days he felt like he was getting better. Like he wasn't hurting, like he didn't need to be cautious. Like he was <em>normal<em>. He still _looked_ fine, at least to his fellow classmates. His mother had been concerned about him attending school when he could so easily suffer a relapse there. But he insisted - he could be _very_ convincing when he put his mind to it. He wanted to do things in his life other than be fussed over by his mother! She begrudgingly allowed him that, but accompanied him on the train ride to school and back, lest he relapse like the one that had first put him in hospital.

It was harder to hide the bruising in his arm - an unfortunate consequence of numerous injections for his treatment - from his school friends during the summer, when short sleeved shirts became the norm. He initially received curious questions about it, which he answered truthfully after an obviously fanciful story - he supposed he owed that much to his friends. However, the mention of a disease earned him many uneasy looks, but he moved the conversation to something more light-hearted. As he thought, the smiles on his friends' faces were back once they had moved on to a less awkward topic. Joshua was glad the psychology books were good for _something_.

After school, Joshua unconsciously found himself moving away from using colours when he painted in the Art club; thanks to the degeneration in his right eye, it was starting to become difficult for him to tell the difference between red and green.

He was fine with that; there was a certain thrill in putting down his brush and looking at his finally complete piece of calligraphy.

A magnificent dragon, snaking its way down the poster.

However, as the days wore on, Joshua found those days of relatively easy remission becoming fewer and fewer. Sometimes even reading became difficult when a splitting headache pounded in the back of his skull and his vision blurred.

_Why?_

Why did he have this stupid disease? He was supposed to be young and healthy! He _had_ been young and healthy. But now, right now... he couldn't even sit up without it feeling like an intense effort. He couldn't even walk without his back hunched like he was an old, dying man. He _wasn't_ that! He _wasn't_ helpless!

But he couldn't bring himself to shout and scream his rage at his vigilant mother, so he grit his teeth and held all his bitterness and resentment inside as a needle was silently poked in his arm.

* * *

><p>When Joshua ended up in some kind of twisted afterlife, he almost cried. He could see things more clearly than he could remember. He could stand up and stretch and not have the muscles in his back scream in pain. He could <em>walk<em> without any issues, without the need for some kind of aid. He didn't pay that much attention to talk of a Game; most of his attention was focused on how quickly and fluidly his body now moved.

It was so wonderful.

This afterlife had given him so much more freedom of movement, freedom of mind, than the last few years of his life had. And... though he felt an incredible amount of guilt when he thought of his mother, who had given him so much love and care, he didn't have thoughts of winning the Game just so he could return and fill her life with taking care of a dying son.

He wanted _this_ life.

This _healthy_ teenage body.

_Forever_.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> I don't think this is an entirely possible history Joshua could have had that will fit comfortably with canon; I mostly just wanted to try my hand at writing an alternate reason Joshua may have wanted the Composer's seat that _wasn't_ to do with power or love for Shibuya. Thank you for reading!


End file.
